Chapter 13 Electra
THIRTEEN
ELECTRA
Consciousness drifted back to Electra like sunlight filtering through morning mist. Her eyelids fluttered open, and the unfamiliar ceiling above her sent a brief jolt of confusion through her system before memory crashed back in vivid, heated waves.
Rune’s cabin. His bed. The dining room table and scattered dishes and the most explosive sex of her entire thirty-five years.
A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips as she stretched against the soft cotton sheets, her body deliciously sore in places that reminded her exactly how thoroughly she’d been claimed.
The space beside her was empty but still warm, the indent in the pillow and lingering scent of pine and masculine heat proof that last night hadn’t been some fever dream.
Instead of eating the beautiful dinner he’d prepared—she’d barely managed two bites of the incredible comfort food—she’d grabbed him by the collar like some starved woman and kissed him with a desperation that still made her cheeks burn.
The memory of yanking him across that table, of dishes clattering to the floor as he lifted her onto the polished wood, sent fresh heat spiraling through her core.
Tyler had never been like that. Her ex-boyfriend, the most serious relationship she’d managed before everything imploded, had been adequate in bed.
Predictable. But Rune? Rune had been a force of nature wrapped in iron control, all that devastating power held in check until she’d begged him to let go. And when he had...
Her body still hummed with echoes of that pleasure, a bone-deep satisfaction she hadn’t known was possible. She’d read about it, written about it in countless scenes, but experiencing it? That was something else entirely.
The way he’d worshipped her body, the deliberate precision of every touch and every thrust. How he’d made her feel both utterly conquered and completely cherished at the same time.
When he’d carried her to his bed afterward, she’d been too overwhelmed to speak, too wrung out to do anything but melt into his arms and feel.
For the first time in her adult life, she had felt truly safe with a man.
No demands. No expectations. Just solid warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing against her hair as sleep claimed her.
Now, in the clear light of morning, embarrassment crept in alongside the satisfaction. She should have said something afterward. Should have told him how incredible it was, how he’d made her feel things she’d only imagined in her novels. But somehow, she suspected he already knew.
The mate bond.
The thought sent a shiver of equal parts excitement and terror down her spine.
She’d written about mate bonds dozens of times, crafted scenes where the connection between shifter and mate deepened after claiming, where emotions and sensations flowed between them like a living current.
She’d always assumed it was literary license, romantic fantasy to heighten the stakes.
But now? Now she could feel something humming beneath her skin, a warm awareness that seemed to tug gently toward wherever Rune was in the cabin. It wasn’t overwhelming, not yet, but it was there. Real and undeniable.
Panic fluttered in her chest as she sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet to her bare breasts.
What have I done?
Yes, she’d wanted him with a ferocity that had shocked her.
Yes, it had felt right in a way that defied logic.
But now she was completely exposed to him, wasn’t she?
If her research was even remotely accurate, he could sense her location, her emotional state, maybe even her thoughts.
The idea of being that transparent, that vulnerable, made her chest tighten with familiar anxiety.
I can’t hide anymore. Not from him at least.
The thought was both terrifying and, strangely, a little liberating.
She’d spent so long building walls, maintaining distance, protecting herself from the kind of hurt that came with letting someone too close.
But those walls felt paper-thin now, irrelevant in the face of whatever had awakened between them.
Her gaze fell on a black t-shirt draped over the chair in the corner—his, obviously.
She slipped from the bed and pulled it over her head, the hem falling to mid-thigh.
It smelled like him, pine and spice and something uniquely male that made her want to bury her face in the fabric and breathe deeply.
Focus, Electra.
As she padded barefoot toward the bedroom door, that strange new awareness pulsed stronger. Not intrusive, but present—like a thread connecting her to him even when he wasn’t in sight. She could feel his presence somewhere in the cabin, a warm, steady anchor that both comforted and unnerved her.
Her writer’s brain was already spinning, desperate to capture this feeling, this experience, before it faded.
The creative spark that had been dormant for a week was roaring back to life with a vengeance, fed by the intensity of the past twelve hours.
She needed to get back to her cabin, needed to pour this all onto the page while it was fresh and raw and real.
But first, she needed to find Rune. To face whatever came next with the man who’d just turned her entire understanding upside down.
The scent of bacon and coffee drew Electra down the hallway like a lifeline, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floors. The mate bond hummed stronger as she approached the kitchen—that warm tether that seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She found Rune standing at the stove, his broad shoulders filling out the crisp lines of his sheriff’s uniform.
The sight of him—all controlled power and masculine authority even in the simple act of plating breakfast—sent heat spiraling through her all over again.
He’d already showered and dressed for work, his black hair still slightly damp at the nape of his neck, and she felt a ridiculous pang of disappointment that she’d missed watching him get ready.
His head turned before she’d taken another step, those gray eyes finding hers with unerring precision. Of course he’d sensed her approach. The mate bond worked both ways.
“Morning,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar note of controlled warmth that made her stomach flutter.
The smile that spread across his face was slow and devastating, his pupils dilating as his gaze traveled over her body. She was acutely aware of how she must look—tousled hair, bare legs, drowning in his black t-shirt.
“Good morning,” she managed, her own voice coming out huskier than intended.
She couldn’t help herself. The pull between them was magnetic, irresistible, and she found herself crossing the kitchen toward him like a moth drawn to flame. When she reached him, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his, her hands fisting in the front of his uniform shirt.
This kiss was different from the desperate claiming of the night before.
Slower. Deeper. A languid exploration that tasted of gratitude and promise, of everything they’d shared and everything still waiting to unfold between them.
His hands came up to frame her face as he kissed her with a thoroughness that made her knees weak.
I could kiss this man forever, she thought dizzily, melting into the solid warmth of his body.
But he pulled back before she was ready, his breathing slightly uneven as he rested his forehead against hers.
“I feel bad that you didn’t get to eat dinner last night,” he said, his voice rough with lingering desire. “That’s why I made breakfast. You need to eat something.”
The concern in his tone, the way he was already thinking about taking care of her, sent warmth flooding through her chest. She glanced at the plates he’d prepared—perfectly golden eggs, crispy bacon, and buttered toast cut into neat triangles.
It looked like something from a magazine, and her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
“I am starved,” she admitted with a laugh, suddenly ravenous. Two years without sex, followed by the most intense claiming of her life, had apparently worked up quite an appetite.
She attacked the food with embarrassing enthusiasm, barely pausing to chew as she shoveled forkfuls of eggs into her mouth. Rune’s low chuckle made her look up, and she found him watching her with obvious amusement.
“What?” she asked around a mouthful of bacon.
“Nothing. It’s just... refreshing to see you actually eat.”
She couldn’t suppress her grin. “Trust me, after last night, I could eat a horse.”
The heat that flared in his eyes at the reminder made her pulse skip.
“I really don’t want to leave so soon,” she continued, “but I need to get my thoughts and feelings down on paper while they’re fresh.”
His smile was knowing. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with me and last night, would it?”
“Maybe,” she said with mock innocence, then scarfed down the rest of her food with renewed urgency.
After her stomach was bursting with nourishment, she found her yellow sundress on his couch—not crumpled on the floor where they’d tossed it in their frenzy but carefully arranged. The thoughtfulness of the gesture made her chest tight with emotion she wasn’t ready to examine.
“I’m going to get changed now,” she said softly as she met his intense gaze.
“Take your time.”
Once in his bathroom, she splashed water on her face and tried to tame her wild hair into something presentable.
Her reflection looked different somehow—glowing, alive in a way she hadn’t seen in years.
The woman staring back at her had been thoroughly claimed by an Alpha, and it showed in the brightness of her eyes and the satisfied curve of her mouth.
When she finally emerged, Rune was waiting by the front door, holding his leather jacket.
“I really need to go,” she said, almost apologetically.
He nodded immediately, understanding flickering in his eyes. “I need to get to work too.”
No argument. No disappointment. No demands for more of her time or attention. He simply accepted her need to create, respected the urgency that was clawing at her insides.
“Here. Take my jacket,” he said, holding it open for her.
She slipped her arms into the sleeves, the leather warm and supple against her skin. It was far too big, hanging loose around her shoulders, but it smelled like him and provided a comforting weight that felt like protection.
Outside, the spring morning was crisp and bright, the forest alive with birdsong and the rustle of new leaves. Once at her car, he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her again—slow, grounding, a promise without words that made her toes curl in her sandals.
“Be careful,” he murmured against her lips. “And good luck with your writing today.”
She pulled back and smiled, her heart doing something complicated in her chest. “Thank you for the inspiration.”
The drive back to her cabin felt surreal, like the world had shifted half a degree and now everything was sharper and more vivid.
Colors seemed brighter, sounds clearer, as if someone had adjusted the contrast on reality itself.
She kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other pressed to her thigh, grounding herself in sensation while her mind raced ahead to the blank document waiting on her laptop.
Her body still hummed with echoes of the night before—not just from the incredible sex, though God knew that alone would have been enough to fuel a dozen novels. It was the safety she’d felt in his arms, the way he’d made her feel utterly cherished and protected.
Her writer’s brain was spinning, sentences half-forming, images stacking on top of one another.
She wasn’t just going to write about this—she was going to write from inside it.
Raw, honest, without the safe distance of pure fiction.
It was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure because there would be nowhere to hide.
She soon pulled into the narrow drive outside her cabin and quickly parked her car, unbuckling her seatbelt and planning how quickly she could get to her laptop before the feeling faded. The creative fire was burning bright and hot, and she needed to capture it before—
The piece of paper taped to her front door caught her eye.
Her heart stuttered as she approached the door and pulled it off, then began racing for entirely different reasons. The handwriting was careful, familiar in a way that made her skin crawl. A direct quote from her bestselling novel, written in precise block letters.
The Alpha did not claim his mate by force. He waited. And when she finally chose him, he knew the world had just become more dangerous—for them both.
The forest seemed to lean in around her, the morning quiet suddenly oppressive. Her hands shook, and one name echoed through her mind like a death knell.
Tyr Grodin.
He found her.